


loss

by myrosebudboy



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrosebudboy/pseuds/myrosebudboy
Summary: simon coming to terms with the loss of his magic.





	

The realisation that I’ve lost my magic comes in bits and pieces.

That night, the weight of it crashes straight into me. I scream it to the night sky, I stutter it to Baz, I whisper it over and over to myself into my blankets until my lips are numb and the words have lost all their meaning. It’s carved into my brain, into my chest, into every fibre of my being that used to smoulder and spark and _ignite_. When I can’t think in words anymore I count the tiny balls of lint on my blanket until I lose track, and then I do it again. Baz’s cheek is pressed against my shoulder, snoring softly, nails digging into my arm a little bit. I welcome the sting. It’s a reminder that I’m still here.

The next day, I wake at three in the afternoon. Penny’s sitting beside me, flipping through a book, a bowl of soup on the table beside her. She makes such a fuss about me waking up and forcing me to drink the soup that I forget for a good half hour. It’s when I tell her the soup tastes disgusting and her laughter is several keys off from its usual melodic tone that my brain snaps back to life. This time it’s my fingernails that press into my arms as the world blurs and I hang on for dear life. It takes a pot of tea and several calming spells to bring me back. I touch my face and my fingers come away soaked in tears that I don’t remember streaming down my face.

After that, it’s painfully slow, for both me and everyone around me. I pick up my spellbooks one day out of boredom and it takes me three minutes to realise what I’m doing. Baz catches me absent-mindedly practising spell movements. Penny jumps when I casually use English idioms in daily conversation and tries to pretend nothing happened.

I get into a fight with Penny and Baz at four in the afternoon. Rain hits the windows like the drops are trying to smash the glass to pieces and we’re all shouting.

“For the last time, use your magic around me. Go crazy. Wash the whole house, clean the curtains, rearrange my bedroom, do the groceries, _I don’t care_!”

Baz, voice shaking with barely controlled fury, tells me to _shut up_.

“Are you telling me you’re putting seven fucking years of magic education on hold just for me? Who _does_ that? I’m not a _patient_! I don’t need you tiptoeing around me. I’m a functioning human being, thank you!”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I want to do with my life, Simon Snow!” Penny yells.

“I’m not a child, Penny!”

“And I’m not either!”

“Fuck you!” Is my childish reply. I stumble back into my room and bury myself under the covers. Three hours later, I walk back out for a cup of water, and Penny silently magicks a pot of tea up for me.

Life goes along as it should. Little reminders pop up here and there. Baz’s stepmother mutters _Crowley_ at a pot of soup and claps her hand over her mouth, eyes darting towards me. Penny’s father asks me to give him some magickal assistance and flinches violently when he realises what he’s said. Baz’s stepsister, frustrated with basic spells, announces loudly face-down on the couch that she wishes she didn’t have magic. (To be fair, she didn’t realise I was there, and it was refreshing to not have someone apologise profusely as if they’d done me a personal, unforgivable wrong.) They’re little pinpricks of pain, but I don’t mind them. Sometimes, I forget that I had magic at all.

The real sucker punch comes when I travel back to visit Penny one day in her eighth year, and I realise the Watford gates don't open for me anymore.


End file.
